


The First Generation

by maevestrom



Category: Original Work
Genre: Arizona - Freeform, Chinese Character, Closeted Character, Family Dinners, Gender Identity, Gender Roles, Hispanic Character, Immigration & Emigration, Other, Racial Tensions, San Francisco, Second Generation, college students
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-22
Updated: 2020-02-22
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:40:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22842616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maevestrom/pseuds/maevestrom
Summary: Jaclin Zhang decides to be the most supportive girlfriend she can be to her long-distance closeted nonbinary partner Tre Aguilar when the two of them visit their unsupportive parents for dinner, but it's easier said than done.
Relationships: Original Female Character/Original Nonbinary Character
Kudos: 4





	The First Generation

Don’t ask me about calculus. Sure, I’m a college student, but that just means I wanna think about it  _ less.  _ Don’t ask me about how to change a tire. It’s Tre who does all the driving and car stuff when we meet up, at least when I’m not dragging dust-covered luggage from the bottom of a Greyhound twice my height or maybe more in the Arizonian desert. Don’t ask me about how to get to Levi’s; I’ve lived in the Bay Area all my life and I still haven’t been everywhere, and do I look like a sports girl and not a total nerd? Who hates calculus? 

The things that I don’t know yet could fill a whole book and I keep reading it in my head when Tre drives me through Arizona to go for dinner with their parents. Ah, their parents. I have heard a lot about them when Tre does their best not to talk trash about them when they vent, but seeing as they  _ don’t _ know about Tre yet and Tre  _ wants  _ it that way, I think of all the things they didn’t say and they are  _ loud.  _

I don’t tell them I’m worried about it all because I feel like my worries come a distant second to theirs. (Besides, it’s not like the shit’s not emanating off of me, so I don’t need to press the issue.) I just can’t stop thinking of all the things that I don’t know. They’re driving to their parents’ place and my heart is hammering, but they keep glancing at me. I keep smiling until I realize they don’t believe it. 

Other than giving me a little side glance that says  _ Jaclin Jia Zhang  _ like my mother or something, Tre doesn’t press the issue, but if I know a damn thing about them even after a few months of dating, they  _ will  _ think about it and I don’t want them to read into it. Coming out to me was already a risk for them. I don’t want them to think that I can’t handle any stress over it. Over them. 

“Sorry,” I breathe. “Just… nervous.”

Tre nods and reaches for my hand after they pull off the I-10. “It’s okay, Jax. You’ll be fine.”

I don’t know why the hell they’re reassuring  _ me  _ but I know I could use it. I squeeze it to know that whenever they need me, I’m there. Hopefully. They don't have to know that’s  _ why  _ I’m nervous. 

The light turns green and Tre drives on. We’re getting there. We always have been. 

* * *

Their parents meet them at the front door. Tre hugs their dad, dressed in a checkered shirt and a belt that props up his belly. He looks warmhearted, but I still bristle. There’s a reason Tre decked themselves out in blue jeans and a varsity jacket they haven’t worn since they threw all their explicitly boy clothes out and had to dig through their closet for the last vestiges of Trevor. He hugs me without asking with his arms around my back and it’s weird but I swallow it. Just another sign that, as Trevor would say, Papa is a bit behind the times. Yeah, a  _ bit.  _ He’s too touchy and already creeps me out and when I see him approach Tre it isn’t nearly as feelsy so I don’t feel like I’m judging too harshly.

Their mom is wearing a pink sundress because I feel like summer never dies in Arizona. “Oh, senorita, you didn’t need to wear a jacket!” she says, pulling at it worriedly and nearly making me  _ eep!  _

“Y-you’re telling me.” I dust my Cali Golden Bears sweater off (see, we match! Like I wasn’t gonna wear this anyway, but hey) in quite a pointed manner. Does this family have boundaries? Tre’s way more respectful than either of them. Too much so, like I already haven’t committed to them and it’s okay. 

(I think some of it is out of fear, and I wanna shake them and say  _ you don’t have to be afraid of me,  _ but maybe whatever they’re afraid of is bigger than me. Most things are, figuratively and literally.)

“We are so glad the two of you decided to join us,” Dad says. I’ll remember their names later. They could really stand to be helpful and introduce themselves, but I think they think they need no introduction when in reality half my mind can be found dissecting a pig’s liver. 

Tre smiles. I think they mean it enough to make it pass. “I’m glad that we’re here too.”

That’s my cue. With a smile that kind of resents that it exists: “Same here. Nice to meet you both!”

Whoever the hell you are.

That’s officially when the visit starts. Tre’s parents have been cooking all day for our visit, which seems to soften Tre’s heart, and I want it to soften mine too, but it’s hard because if I do, I feel like I am getting sucked in. Still, even though they’re calling them Trevor and him and I have to as well, they still smile at us whenever we pass by, calling Tre my boyfriend which is, yeah, basically the gist of it but also not. 

Traditional Mexican music plays from a CD player in the center of the living room with no TV and a metric ton of Catholic imagery around an unused fireplace that I honestly wonder why they needed to build here in Arizona. (Like, maybe it gets freezing cold in the winters?) It all feels like how I imagined Arizona to be (like when Tre drove me through  _ Historic Surprise  _ near Phoenix and it was a bunch of Mesa architecture and a Starbucks). More importantly, it’s what I would imagine a house with heritage would be. And the more I look at this spoiling smorgasbord of Mexican culture, the more I realize that Tre’s kinda got a little efficient and budgeted touch of this in their apartment.

I love it, but does it all feel weird to me?

I guess. 

My parents were different when they came to America; even though they opened a Chinese restaurant I didn’t grow up with the imagery to reinforce our culture. It was our business, not our lives, and so I guess I always kept it separate too. It meant I was efficient and I could focus on how I was such a huge nerd for biology because, hey, I’m an only child. I get to think it’s all about me. (Well, I am now. Mom swore she’d only have a kid after I had moved to my dorms, so I am at least curious.) … it’s not as easy as they do it here. I kinda feel proud on Tre’s behalf, and I know they are too. It’s traditional, but it’s good. 

When the table is set, their folks let us know. I close my eyes and smile by the time they look at me, but it’s pretty exclusively a  _ bitch-cutting  _ smile, the smile of the partner getting the gun when the person in charge needs it. Not that I’ll let the ‘rents see it, but they have a person coming to the table armed and  _ hella  _ suspicious. 

* * *

Thankfully, when we start eating their offerings, largely traditional and honest Mexican food Tre has made for me before (we tend to compete on who cooks best) the parents talk about their lives and that’s enough to zone me out so I can focus on the fact that, damn, Tre got their cooking skills from somewhere, and it’s kind of crap that they never expected them to use it. Tre seems invested until their dad asks how they’re doing lately on their own, and I squeeze their hand so hard that the blood leaves their face. Tre’s dad is a traditional manly man, and Tre isn’t, and that colors everything.

There’s a lot Tre doesn’t tell me about them that I read between the lines over, and there’s a lot that Tre doesn’t tell them. A lot of it they already know, like how Tre’s cooking for Meals on Wheels and has torn away from their path towards being an investment banker, and  _ sure, I  _ like that but they always speak like they expected more, for them to be the first success, but would I be attracted to another frickin’ investment banker? Hell no, throw a coin in San Francisco and it’ll hit an investment banker. I like having someone I can cook with. And when they respond with a sort of passive derision to Tre stumbling over talking about the recipes they tried, their hand tightens against mine under the table, and I try not to glare at their folks, but I’m a twenty-one-year-old college student with a bitchy streak. It ain’t easy, that’s all I’m saying.

Tre’s report doesn’t stray far from recipes and telling them that work is going well (the people at Meals on Wheels have been very celebratory of their transition). Tre’s mom (I think her name is Karla with a K? Shit, I know Tre told me once) talks about how nice it is that he is doing well without sounding like she thinks it’s nice. Their dad (Julio, it comes back to me in a roar) cuts into his food and says “well enough, considering.”

It’s probably the first words I really hear all dinner and that kinda sucks for him.

Tre looks at me sharply, sharper than they mean, but I can forgive that. Their eyes tell me not to start a fight, and, yeah,  _ okay,  _ that really made me angry and I can see by the weary look on their face that it hurt them as well, and that makes me angrier, and yeah, I won’t start a fight, but I can’t just say nothing. That’s not how I’m built. 

“I think t-he’s doing really well too,” I offer in a bullshit sweet voice. I think knife salespeople are more convincing than me. “Trevor's teaching me a ton of recipes and I’ve been throwing mine back at him so he expands his repertoire.” With a hint of pride: “My parents  _ do  _ own a restaurant, so I pick up some stuff.”

Karla looks at me with a warm smile. Why do I feel poisoned? “They  _ own  _ a restaurant? That’s wonderful!” I nod with a beam, not telling them I’ve been in college ever since I was seventeen studying biology because  _ that  _ does not lend itself well to dinner conversation. “I’m glad you’ve gotten a foundation for learning to cook!” 

I nod, cause  _ yeah,  _ I’m  _ totally  _ professionally cooking and Tre is not. I do shit at school that grosses them out, and they can’t deny this when they capture bugs and set them outside when I’d just smash ‘em and go about my day, but yeah, at least I’m a traditional woman. Tre looks a little incensed on my behalf but I shrug in response. Still, they squeeze my hand under the table and my heart goes a little faster at it. It’s our little secret, our little couple’s union. 

“As am I,” Julio continues. “It will continue the family legacy to cook. You should be proud.”

I furrow my brow and respond before I can help it. “I mean, I don’t really think they care if I do.” Only Tre really seems to perk up at my words, giving me a questioning look. They know all of this, they’re just wondering if I really wanna share it. “They’re very, like… I guess, the way they brought me to America when I was a baby was very…” I struggle to think of a way to define it. “Like, it was all about Jaclin. Like, let’s see what she does in America. And they kinda cater to that. And I actually really appreciate it, too, that they trust me so much.”

Tre smiles. They can probably read into that enough to pick out the letters f, u, c, k, y, o, and u out of it, but the folks can’t. All Karla can say is “that’s a very interesting upbringing.”

Julio says the quiet part loud. I realize he does that a lot. “I agree, Jaclin. When I was young, you know, my mother sat me down, and she told me- I remember very clearly, it was because I was a rowdy kid who got into trouble, she said ‘Julio. Everything you do will have an effect on the Aguilar family name. When they see you, they see Aguilar. And they will remember.’” They clear their throat and repeat “I remember that very well.”

“Trev’s never been a troublemaker,” I defend with a smile, though the  _ e _ takes a very  _ long-a  _ uptick before the  _ v _ . “He’s a sweetie. Basically always has been too.”

Karla points at me with a fork and a mischevious laugh that makes me buck up a little. “Ah, but he was such a troublemaker. Such a hardheaded boy.”

“Still is, too,” Julio adds, dabbing his chin with a napkin. 

“A little independence never hurt,” I respond. “I think it’s kind of attractive, honestly.”

Tre blushes a little. “Jax,” they whine, but they can’t hide their smile. Never could, really. 

I side-hug them. I probably planned to out of spite that evening, like, to show them that  _ yeah, we’re a couple, and I adore the hell out of them,  _ but nah, at this point, it’s cause I’m really charmed by their kid and,  _ gosh,  _ it really hurts that they aren’t at all. I’m not even five feet (I’m surprised they can even see me over this table) and I wanna shelter them and kiss them and tell them how lovely they are, but I manage to suck up my validation fantasies because you haven’t touched your plate and even though I barely know how the hell to eat all this, I need to make a better show of it.

Guess we better pretend to be normal heterosexual people a little while longer. 

Julio takes another bite. “I am happy that you are happy,” he says. “I suppose…”

“Suppose?” Tre asks. That’s just one word, but there’s a lot in it. A lot I’ve never seen, but have been told in words apologetic for even being angry before describing a lot of bullshit about being too soft, too feminine, too  _ not  _ Julio, too  _ not  _ Aguilar, and the only thing Tre is not enough of in my eyes is  _ angry,  _ because this is bullshit, and that’s why I give Julio a warning look that tells him  _ go ahead, motherfucker, please, continue that thought, I dee-double-dog-dare you. _

Julio dabs his mouth with his napkin. “I had meant it more towards Jaclin,” he explains. I perk up and try to pretend I never wanted to shove my napkin in his mouth with a smile that says  _ I’m cute, I’m four foot eleven, and I couldn’t hurt a fly.  _ “Jaclin, you say your family is different?”

_ Different enough that if I so much as said that I didn’t feel like the little girl they brought into America, they wouldn’t guilt me to death over it because, hey, we brought a little non-girl into America and that’s weird and we don’t totally get it but we’re happy for her!  _ is what I want to say. I’m thinking a lot of my spite very vocally so that I can vent and not say it aloud and make this dinner  _ very  _ interesting, but it seems like Julio is trying to do that for me. 

I just say “Yeah. Like, they don’t talk much about their past. They’re first-generation immigrants and what I can tell is that they’re, like, not  _ huge  _ on China, and when they came to America they wanted to just… like, it wasn’t about Zhang. Mom’s Lin, Dad’s Shen, and that’s how this line’s gonna start.” As if I’m a professor pointing at a diagram: “My name was Lin as well until we came to America and I guess they really buckled down on this unique identity thing and threw Jac on the front of it. You know, like Jaclyn but mom’s name.” This gets no response, so I awkwardly add “I mean,  _ I  _ think it’s clever.”

“It’s cute,” Tre assures me. They’ve already heard this story but I take any opportunity that I can naturally segue in to get them to tell me I’m cute so I just beam and lean towards them. 

“That’s all wonderful,” Karla says like she really wants to think it’s wonderful. “You have the opportunity to make a new legacy for the Zhang family.” With a playful glint in her eye: “The Zhang dynasty.” 

I fake the world’s most uncomfortable smile. I was already feeling odd about this whole approach. I try to impress that it’s not about the Zhangs and what do they do but bring it back. And with a nice little dose of casual racism to seal the deal. The  _ Zhang Dynasty?  _ Really? I kinda regret telling them we had a restaurant because I’m now wondering if they think we’ve ever served cat and dog. (That’d make us no fucking money in America, for one thing.) Maybe she meant to be playful, but lady, I just met you. I wouldn’t even take that from Tre without a mean side-eye. 

I realize I have missed a few lines of conversation steaming in place with my plastic smile because I re-enter the world of the cognizant to Karla saying “I don’t think she’s uncomfortable, is she? I think she’d tell us if she was.” Like my mom’s waking my late ass up for school, I shake vigorously and blink a few times to act like I was always there. I mean, I want them to stop talking about me like I’m back in Cali, but I also want to not be put on the spot in regards to telling someone not to say insensitive things. Because yeah it sounds like, okay, they can stop saying insensitive things if you ask. No, it is  _ never  _ that easy. 

“I don’t really think she has to?” Tre phrases it like a question like they know the glass they are walking on is the only thing between us all and a long fall. “I just think that maybe you should be careful about how you speak. It’s easy to do.”

Karla nods, but she doesn’t really get it. She just wants an argument to not happen, and honestly, mood. Julio seems a little put off and I guess that being the manly man who feels a need to operate everything means he’s gonna make his displeasure known. Sure enough: “I have to say, Trevor, this new girlfriend of yours has definitely given you some  _ cajones. _ ”

“ _ Have I? _ ” I ask with a very pointed fuck-you smile. Tre looks more worried than incensed like they weren’t just insulted, and I wonder if they’re just used to it by now. Goddamnit, they deserve so much better and it burns me, but I know what’s expected of us so I don’t take my table knife and perform any impromptu dissections. I just smile, because I know that I might have already stepped too far out of line (something I do with suspicious ease) but hopefully, the smile challenges Julio. If I gave his  _ child  _ cajones, then he should be cautious around me, right?

He doesn’t keep going, and we breathe a little easier. Tre gives me a look of relief as dinner goes cold silent and takes their first real bite. They look at me with a little smile. “Good, isn’t it?” 

“I’ve had better,” I whisper with a smirk. 

Tre elbows me, but I feel them give my hand a little squeeze. They’re a lot more comfortable, and they really should be. 

* * *

They don’t have us stay too long afterward, but honestly, I feel like we both wanted to get away from them a little after that awkward dinner. Tre’s house is about an hour away on the edge of Phoenix in a place called Surprise (that place with the shitty historic district) that I’ve come to know like the back of my hand. They’re still a little tense, but I know I’m not really one to ever loosen up, so maybe I’m just putting off those vibes. God, I really hope it’s not me. I really, really hope it wasn’t. I’ve never been in a situation like this and it just made me mad. 

“I-is everything okay?” Gone is the rough-and-tumble snob college whiz from NorCal. In her place is a timid, cautious little mouse that sounds like the four-eleven that she is. 

Tre nods. “Aside from everything… yeah, I think so.” 

_ Aside from everything. That’s not very convincing.  _ That’s what I wanna say, but right now I’m in supportive girlfriend mode. “That was kinda rough,” I admit sadly. “I kinda see why you don’t wanna tell them now.”

“Yeah,” they respond. “Yeah. We’ve already toed the line, my folks and I, you know. About how I’m not being a real man." 

“I knew it,” I admit. 

Tre nods with melancholy. “It’s really freeing to admit that, no, I’ll never be the man Papa wants me to be. I just don’t want to do that with them. Cause I think that would cut the last tie. It’d be giving up the family name so I can take up my own.”

“You’ll still be an Aguilar.”

“Not how they want it,” they admit shakily. “And they’ve never been flexible.” 

I tread slowly. Imagine, me considering my words. “I mean… like, I’m pretty sure that my parents pissed off the ancestors of the fucking ‘Zhang Dynasty’,” Tre laughs at my mocking voice and air-quotes over those words, and it makes me happy this time because I controlled the words and that rocks. “You know, taking me to America and starting over. And I think, like, you can do that. The Aguilar line moves how you guide it.”

“It does?”

And I blush a little bit. So do they. We don’t really talk as much as glance out the windshield with so much dedication that I cannot see if they’re as red as I am. We’ve been dating for about eight months, and I bet a few times, especially in the whole NRE stage, we  _ thought  _ about the idea of, you know, forever, but we’re just silly kids. We couldn’t be  _ forever,  _ could we? 

I have to admit, I kind of like the idea. 

And the more I like the idea, the closer I err to them. They’re driving, so I can’t exactly climb them like a tree- and we really should get home so I’m not about to stop the car- but it feels right to, you know, own it. That even if it’s just me and Tre… we can make it all right. We can start something. We could be the first generation.

With a sigh that prepares to admit something: “I mean… maybe. Maybe.” I wait for them. They’re really trying to admit that something. “I... kinda wanna tell them to just make them give up on me, but I don’t know if I can take it.”

“Jesus,” I mutter. “Babe, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know it was that bad.” I had a good feeling it was, but, like, paranoia and truth aren’t built on the same ground, even with the same house.

“I’m sorry for not being honest,” they tell me, fingers drumming on the steering wheel listlessly since the I-10 refuses to go anywhere but straight for about forty-five minutes. “I just know that you get angry for me.” 

“I don’t mind getting angry,” I insist. 

“I know, and like, it’s really sweet.” Tre looks at me for a few too many moments. I wanna tell them  _ eyes on the road, champ,  _ but let it ride. “Thank you, by the way.” 

“What for?”

Tre is slow to respond. They’re thinking about what they’re saying, something they seem to reserve for special occasions. “A lot of the time, my folks invite me to dinner. It generally ends in a lot of arguing. I don’t know why they do it. I guess they wanted to meet you.”

I grin a little. “I hope I did well, Tre.”

Tre giggles. “I mean, they didn’t fight. I think they were intimidated by you.”

I snort, but I’m blushing. “I’m more like a pomeranian with a mean yap, but, you know, I try.” 

“Sorry they were crappy to you.” That’s all they say. No excuses. No justifications. No turning it around on me. Holy crap, they’re a keeper.

I shrug. “I’ve met a lot of people who were little shits to me. I was mostly just…” Lowering my voice like I always do before I admit something serious and gooey, I add “I really just wanted to… be there for you. I hope I was.” 

Tre beams. “Jax, you were. You really were. I don’t know what I would have done without you.”

“You mean that?” I don’t want any self-congratulatory bullshit. I don’t want a  _ best ally  _ pin to stick to my bag on the way to the college campus. I don’t need you to tell the world how amazing I am for doing what partners should do in the first place. I just want you to feel loved, I guess. And I think you know that because I am not easily pleased with myself. I keep thinking of all the times I nearly slipped up then or now and how I would have cussed out both your parents at one point or another. 

So, no, I don’t want an award. I’m not that type of girl. 

I just want you to know I’m here for you. 

Tre just nods. “You’re the sweetest person I know.” 

I relax. That’s all I need. 

“You too. You too.”

So no, I can’t tell you how to do calculus. I don’t know how to change a tire. I don’t know how to get to Levi’s. And there’s a lot of other things I don’t know because I’m just a twenty-one-year-old bitchy college student who had to learn her own culture, but there are some things I do know. I know how to protect people. I know how to keep people from fighting. I know how to direct a conversation. I know what people’s strengths are. 

And I know how to be the sweetest person Tre knows.

So, yeah, I think I’m doing all right.


End file.
